


In a Strange Land

by HazelDomain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alt Season 6, Amnesia, Cas wants to be worshipped, Emotional Manipulation, Frottage, Godstiel - Freeform, Homeless Sam, M/M, Manipulation, Mental Instability, Power Imbalance, Prostitution, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-30 20:58:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10884819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelDomain/pseuds/HazelDomain
Summary: Instead of breaking down the wall, Godstiel erases Sam's memories and dumps him halfway across the country.He checks in, now and again.





	In a Strange Land

The man ducks out of the alley and Dean doesn’t follow. 

In a couple minutes, he’ll head back to his spot ( _ a heavily graffitied bus stop, he isn’t quite ready to hit a literal street corner yet _ ) and wait for the next interested party, but for now, all he wants to do is shove the damp bills in his pocket and give his throat a minute to heal. 

He isn’t worried about holding his turf. He’s 6’4 and built strong and ( _ and this is the important part) _ he knows how to dislocate shoulders. As he’d discovered. People don’t mess with him. Anymore. 

He sometimes wonders how he came across that particular skill. 

He draws up the moisture in his mouth and spits, trying to get the taste of latex out of his mouth. It’s starting to rain, making his hair fall across his face in thick strands. He needs a shower. He’s not sure he’s got the money for a motel room. 

When he turns back toward the street, there’s someone waiting for him. He recognizes the trench coat- two sizes too big. 

Dean spares a grin. 

“Hey Jimmy.” 

Jimmy doesn’t smile back. He doesn’t look good. He’s got some kind of rash across his cheekbones. Like he’s been out in the sun. 

Jimmy isn’t ( _ exactly _ ) his friend. But he knows more about Dean than Dean does. 

He was also the first one to buy Dean’s body. 

...

It sounds more dramatic than it was. 

Jimmy found him huddled up on a doorstep and offered him ten bucks for a handjob. Dean was just desperate enough to do it. You can’t catch anything from a handjob, he’d reasoned, ( _ which was ridiculous because he had precisely nineteen days worth of memories, he could have the black fucking plague, for all he knew)  _ and twelve minutes later he was catching spunk in his fist while Jimmy panted. 

Right there in the fucking doorway. 

Anyway, ten bucks was enough for a meal at a diner that let him sit at the bar until the rain stopped. 

Two days later, Dean did it again. Some fucker in a rest stop bathroom. 

So that’s kinda been his off-and-on job, cuz that’s what you do for a living when you wake up in the backseat of a junker with no identification or ( _ more important _ ) cash. 

Once or twice, guys asked him to make  _ deliveries. _ Big guy like him. 

Little while longer, he’ll probably start distributing a whole different sort of pleasure. 

But for now he does this, especially when it’s dark and  _ especially _ when it’s raining. 

“Hello, Dean,” Jimmy says, ( _ and he says it with that ironic lilt that makes it sound like he thinks the name is funny _ ) “Are you busy?” 

“Nah,” Dean says, and it’s raining harder now. He really hopes Jimmy wants something that’s going to require a room. 

“Come here,” Jimmy orders, and Dean almost protests the command. 

He doesn’t, but only because it’s giving him the beginnings of a hardon. 

Jimmy pushes him to his knees and Dean’s momentarily disappointed, but when he reaches for Jimmy’s fly, the man stops him. 

“I want you to pray,” Jimmy says, and Dean’s nothing but confused. 

“What, like, out loud?” 

“If you like,” Jimmy answers. “You can do it silently, if you feel it would be more… authentic.” 

Jimmy’s fingers thread through his hair, and Dean tries to think of how to start a prayer. 

His mind says ( _ Dean, _ ) not for the first time. 

It’s the only name he remembers. 

“What do you want me to pray for?”

The carpet is soft under his knees.

Now that he thinks about it, he can remember leaving the alley. Following ( _ Cas _ ) Jimmy through the hotel lobby. 

“Anything you like,” Jimmy tells him. His trench coat is gone. He’s naked to the waist, revealing more of the harsh red marks. Dean leans forward, letting his hair hide his face. His forehead rests against Jimmy’s thigh. 

He can think of a lot of things he’d like. 

He’s kneeling naked in a hotel room with a stranger. His body is covered in scars he doesn’t remember getting. 

( _ He’s wearing someone else’s name. _ )

“Pray,” Jimmy says, pulling at his hair until Dean is forced to look up. Jimmy’s hard against his cheek, and Dean mouths at him through his slacks. 

“I want this,” he says. He figures that’s what Jimmy wants to hear. 

Jimmy shakes his head,  _ (condescending _ ) and a moment later, there’s a chocolate, dark and sweet, pressing to Dean’s lips. 

He takes it, rough salt scraping his teeth. 

“You’re hungry,” Jimmy says, and Dean doesn’t bother to deny it. Jimmy kisses him deep, the taste of his mouth lost in the sweet-salt of the chocolate. 

“Beg,” Jimmy says. ( _ Beseech, Dean hears. _ )

“ _ Please, _ ” Dean says. He isn’t sure what he’s asking for. 

Jimmy lays him back across the bed  _ (altar)  _ and Dean waits. It doesn’t take long, before Jimmy’s head is buried between his legs. 

“ _ God, _ ” Dean groans, and Jimmy hums around his cock. 

There’s no rubber. That should concern him. 

Instead he arches into it, another  _ please _ dropping from his lips. 

“You’ve prayed before,” Jimmy tells him. “To a god who ignored you. I will do better than he did.” 

Jimmy pushes his pants down, climbing on top of Dean. He’s scary warm, fever hot. His cock is a line of fire where it lays against Dean’s thigh. The two of them slide together, spit-slick. 

Jimmy’s hands are on his knees, pushing them apart, too wide. 

“Eighty,” Dean says, pushing himself up onto his elbows. 

He hasn’t done this. ( _ Nobody’s asked. _ )

Jimmy looks up at him, and Dean tries to keep his voice steady. 

“If you wanna fuck me. Eighty. Up front. And you gotta use a rubber.”

Dean realizes he doesn’t have one. Not on him. 

He doesn’t expect Jimmy to smile. 

“Is that what you want?” 

Dean frowns, shakes his head. His knees rest against Jimmy’s hips. They’re pressed together, hips to shoulder, and Jimmy is whispering in his ear. 

“Pray to me,” Jimmy says. “Profess your love unto me and you may have anything you ask.” 

It’s a game, one of Jimmy’s games. Like when he pays Dean to spend the night with him, fully clothed, legs tangled together. 

It’s a cruel one, Dean thinks. Unbidden, his throat starts to burn. 

He’s got forty bucks crammed into the pocket of damp jeans. When Jimmy’s done with him, he can choose between food and sleep. Both seem equally appealing. 

“ _ Think bigger, _ ” Jimmy tells him, and something warm settles over his chest. 

His skin is warm ( _ scrubbed clean _ ) and dry, the alley rain nothing but a distant memory. 

For the first time he can remember, he isn’t hungry. 

“I can make you a king,” Jimmy tells him, and kisses him deep before he can respond. 

“A czar,” he says. “I will give you satin sheets in opulent bedchambers. Fame and feasts and money. Ask.” 

Dean tries to imagine it and can’t. 

“I want my name,” he says instead. 

“ _ Sam, _ ” Jimmy groans. He says it like he’s exasperated.

“Sam,” he repeats, tasting it in his mouth. He still doesn’t remember. He’s hard and Jimmy is still moving, stroking them together. It’s distracting him and he doesn’t know what he wants to focus on. 

The room darkens, like someone has pulled the curtains. 

In the gloom, Jimmy’s eyes burn a vibrant blue. Behind him, Sam sees the shadows of something huge and terrible, spread across the spotted plaster ceiling. 

“Are you really god?” he whispers. He’d believe a ‘yes,’ if it came. 

“I’m  _ your _ god,” the deity inside Jimmy answers. “Accept me and worship me and you shall receive.” 

Sam is panting, the hand on his cock stripping them faster now. He’s going to come and he thinks that might be the end of this transaction. 

“Okay,” he answers. “Okay, yeah- ah,  _ fuck- _ ”

He spills over Jimmy’s hand and Jimmy gasps, driving his hips down. Sam can feel lines of come painting his belly. 

Jimmy rolls off and all of a sudden the room is back to normal. No darkness, no glowing eyes, no ethereal wings filling a room too small to hold them. 

Just a guy, stretched out on the bed, their mixed come getting cold on his skin. 

It occurs to Sam that Jimmy might have slipped him something. He’s not clear on the details of how he got here. 

“No,” Jimmy says, sitting up. “You’ve just forgotten how to worship. Think on it. Maybe next time.” 

He dresses and Sam waits. He isn’t in any hurry to put his clothes back on. There’s wet gravel ground into the knees of his jeans and he’s been wearing the same shirt too long. 

_ Dean, _ he thinks again, and Jimmy shakes his head. 

“That’s in there deep,” he mutters, reaching out and letting his fingertips trail across Sam’s forehead. Sam winces, but nothing happens. 

“I want to go home,” he says suddenly. “If you’re god, and all that. Then I want to go home.” 

Jimmy gives him a little smile. 

“You don’t have one,” he says. “You never have.”

“I  _ do, _ ” Sam insists, because he can’t remember much, but he can remember that. He has somewhere he belongs. Someone waiting for him. 

“Who’s Dean?” he asks, and Jimmy kisses him again. 

“Maybe next time.” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I think I got my mojo back.
> 
> Original prompt: 
> 
> http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/120173.html?thread=43227757#t43227757


End file.
